Being Still is a Habit
by valkyriegirl
Summary: "It's been a few weeks, but I'm still getting used to this. Human feelings. Living. I guess it takes practice." R learns to live again. R/Julie. R's POV.
1. Chapter 1: Warmth

**A/N: **This is the first story I've written in over two years, so go easy on me. That being said, comments are always welcome! I've worked hard to try to capture R's voice and make the narrative more conversational (things are not always perfectly grammatically correct for this reason). It's a pleasure to be able to write again! I hope you like it.

PS. I don't own Warm Bodies in any form.

* * *

My sleep is dreamless. I wake to hunger.

I tense, feel goosebumps spread over my skin. But then I realize it's real, human hunger. Not the "new hunger"—not the way it was before. Relieved, I exhale, feel muscles unclench.

Is this normal? Do normal people get hungry at 3am? I press my eyes shut, clutch at sleep. It's been a few weeks, but I'm still getting used to this. Human feelings. _Living_. I guess it takes practice. I mean, I can almost sleep through the better part of a night, now. It's easier when Julie's here. Most nights I sleep in Julie's bed and Colonel Grigio pretends not to notice. But tonight Julie's on patrol, Nora's on shift at the hospital, and Colonel Grigio's out doing something in the dead zone, leaving me the house to myself. To do… whatever, I guess. I'm not really sure what that means. Sleep seemed like a good idea at the time.

But now I'm wide awake. I can't help it. I give in, sit up, look around my room. By "my room", I mean Colonel Grigio's study with a cot made up against one wall. Call me crazy, but it's kind of hard to sleep with a portrait of the guy_ in uniform, holding a shotgun_ over my head.

I've left a window open and somewhere a few streets over, the patrol is passing. A rooster crows. The dog at the end of the block barks. Sounds of Life. I wonder if the patrol is Julie's unit, but she won't be back for hours. I push the covers off and stand up, stiffly, swipe Julie's ipod off the corner of the desk. Out in the hallway, I stuff the earbuds into my ears, click to something random, wind up with Bon Iver. Makes me miss my vinyl. My stomach rumbles as I trudge down the stairs, and I pause to look down at my gut. Jesus. I just ate, like five hours ago. You'd think I'd be used to this by now.

I guess I can sleep when I'm dead. Oh, wait.

The kitchen is dark, but I don't bother turning on the light. I shuffle into the pantry and look at the packed shelves. The number of zombies in the city has dropped a lot as… whatever we started… spreads, allowing more trips out into the dead zone. Good thing, too, considering all the new people the city has to feed. The Grigios' pantry has more food in it than Julie can remember since before this whole zombie apocalypse thing happened. I mean, most of it is canned, but I still feel pretty good about that.

For me, food is kind of a puzzle. Eating as a zombie was messy, but you gotta admit it was simple—only one thing on the menu. Here, there are so many options: cans of beans, soup, fruit cocktail, peaches in syrup, potato chips from some mini mart in the 'burbs, vegetables, 20 pounds of rice. I am overwhelmed by choice, and usually I don't really know what to expect, but at least variety is something new. Everyone encourages me to eat. They've even assigned me extra rations. I wonder if they're worried about what kind of appetite I might develop if I'm not well fed.

Julie says they just want me to get better.

I'd eat the peaches but it's the last one and they're Julie's favorite, so instead I grab some chips and a can of beans. The can opener gives me some trouble, but the chips are easier and this time I manage to rip the bag open without spilling it everywhere. Not bad. I can handle silverware when I try, but since it's just me I slide down to the tile and slouch against the cabinets, scooping up mouthfuls of beans with the chips. I squint at the label in the dark, make out _BAKED BEANS_. Huh. Living taste buds are nice.

I'm feeling pretty good by the time I get to the bottom of the can, but I have trouble reaching the last few bites. The rim of the can is jagged from my struggle with the can opener. But, you know, I'm the guy who doesn't know when to give up. Or maybe I'm the guy who doesn't know when to get up and get a spoon. So I try to be careful, but my hand slips.

Blood everywhere. Shit. So much for the rest of the beans. Why am I so bad at this stuff? It's not that complicated.

I watch the blood run with a weird mix of frustration and pride and even a little relief. I mean, it's proof that I am more than dead, like the bullet wound in my chest. That's healing, slowly, but it still hurts sometimes. Nora helps Julie change the bandages. I know I should probably do something about the cut on my hand but instead I just sit there, listening to Bon Iver and watching blood drip down the back of my fist. Being still is a habit, I guess.

I mean, maybe I'm still not the liveliest guy ever.

After a while, I hear the door open and shut, one set of footsteps. _Julie_. The corners of my mouth turn up as I put the can down, pull my earbuds out, and stand, cradling my bleeding hand against my chest.

"Julie—" I call, shuffle forward a few steps. My voice is rough.

"R!" I hear the smile in her voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the… kitchen." Words are still hard, sometimes. I'm working on it. She appears in the doorway.

"Did you get hungry? Why are you sitting in the dark?" I shrug, and she flips the light switch. Her eyes get wide as she sees my hand. "You're bleeding! What happened?"

"Trouble with the… can opener." I kind of deserve it, but she doesn't laugh. Instead, she grabs my elbow and steers me over to the sink. Blood tints the water and flecks the basin. _Alive._ Julie peers around my shoulder and shakes her head.

"Jesus, R!" I look down at her, meet her gaze, shrug. I mean, I've had worse. She frowns, worried.

"You gotta be more careful, okay? You're not unbreakable anymore." I duck my head. Oh no, I'm acting weird again. "How long did you sit there like that? And you got blood all over your shirt, too. Jeez." She disappears and I stand there at the sink feeling stupid, watching water run off my skin. When she comes back she's got a bunch of bandages. "Here." She turns off the tap, pats my hand dry with a dishtowel, takes a good look at the wound. "This is pretty deep. Wow. You liked those beans, huh?" She glances up at me, eyes laughing. I half-smile and shrug again. I mean, you would too if you didn't have taste buds for like, a decade. But I stand still as she fixes me up: presses gauze pads with ointment over the wound, wraps my hand in a cotton bandage. Her fingers are warm. It feels good to be cared for. "We'll get Nora to look at it in the morning. Hope you don't need stitches." I nod, look at my fist. The white of the bandages isn't so different from the color of my skin, but at least I'm not gray anymore.

"How was patrol? I thought you were… out 'til dawn."

"Kevin actually let me cut out early, for once. He knows how many extra shifts I've been pulling since everyone else is on sweeps."

"R-really?" That guy takes 'stiff' to a whole new level. I should know.

"Ha—yeah! Turns out he's human. I was starting to wonder. Anyway, come on." Julie gathers up her medical supplies, pulls me toward the stairs. "You think you can sleep a few more hours?" I nod. Like I would say no.

I put on a clean shirt, then she leads me to her room. I hesitate, not really sure what to do with myself while she changes. She comes out in a tank top and shorts, and climbs straight into bed, patting the mattress beside her. So I shuffle over and stop by the nightstand. Jesus, I'm so awkward. Why do I always have to be so awkward? "Come on, R. You _need_ to sleep. You know that, right?" She looks worried, again.

"It's harder when... you're not here." I shrug. I mean, it's the truth. She smiles a little.

"I know, but you've gotta try. It'll get better. You just have to be patient." I shrug again, look away. Sometimes it's hard not to be frustrated with myself. You'd think after all those years at the airport, I'd have learned to be patient, but— "Hey," Julie says, watching my expression. Her tone is soft. She pulls me into bed next to her, puts a hand on my chest and presses, grips a bit of t-shirt. I meet her gaze. "I know you get fed up sometimes, but you're getting better every day. Even dad says so." She brushes some hair out of my face, puts her hand against my cheek. "We're in this together, remember? Stay together. Everything is gonna be okay." I nod. She slides over and puts her head on my shoulder, makes small sounds as I wrap my arms around her. I feel my mouth tighten into a smile. She's right. This is more than okay. This was worth the wait.

"Good night, Julie." I mumble into her hair.

"Good night, R." She sighs. I can feel the rise and fall of her ribs against mine, her quiet breaths. I lie awake for a while, but her warmth and her breathing pull me under. This time, I dream.


	2. Chapter 2: Anything With a Heartbeat I

A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and support! I got so carried away with writing this week, I actually had to break what I thought would be one chapter into two. Don't worry, I will post the second tomorrow.

Disclaimer: I don't own Junior Mints or Poloroid or Pringles or any of the other brand name stuff I mention. I'm sure that is a huge surprise.

* * *

What am I doing out here? This isn't really where I meant to end up. I just kind of kept walking, and here I am.

The dead zone.

The other guys would never come out here alone. You know why? 'Cause that's crazy. I mean, everything is dirty and broken and once in a while you come across a dead body. Not to mention there are still a few boneys wandering around. Julie says it's super creepy. But I kind of like it. It's quiet. Feels like I have room to think. If being still is a habit, maybe quiet is, too. Sometimes I feel like I fit in better out here than I do in there.

What the hell am I doing? Why do I have to be so weird?

I wish I had a job. That's kind of weird, I guess, but I think it would be nice to have something to do. Sitting around waiting reminds me too much of the airport, how it was before. I'm just not quite sure how I fit in. They tell me I'm still supposed to be "acclimating", whatever that means. To living, I guess. I'm still kinda working that out.

Sort of like a lot of things.

So I have a ton of spare time. I listen to a lot of music. I read sometimes, but it's kinda hard to focus, separate the letters on the page. I watch DVDs on the computer. I tried to learn to cook, but Julie made me promise I'd only do that when someone else is home.

I mean, I guess I lit my sleeve on fire, but that was just the one time.

I try to find ways to help, not get in the way. Julie just started with the animal husbandry unit, helping the veterinarian at the farm. Between that and patrols, she's been working a lot and I haven't really gotten to see her, lately. But Dr. Slocum is nice and doesn't seem too weirded out by me, so sometimes I'll go down there and help them feed the cows or carry water or collect chicken eggs. Chickens aren't too hard to understand. They kinda remind me of me, before—all appetite, eat anything, hang out in groups. They don't even blink very often. Just more feathers and no taste in music.

Sometimes I go visit M. His landlady, Mrs. Hackett, has a huge collection of old radio shows that she lets us listen to. M likes detective stories, but his favorite is _War of the Worlds_. Mrs. Hackett likes _Gunsmoke. _Mrs. Hackett also likes her cats, the gin she keeps behind the Encyclopedia Britannicas, and beating everyone at poker. That's about it. What's more brutal than losing at cards to a sixty-seven-year-old woman with a limp and a bad wig? Pretty much nothing.

Sometimes I'll visit Nora at the medical tent and help with the new intakes. People like me, some more undead than others. Every once in a while I'll recognize someone from the airport, and I don't really know if I should say hello. That can be kind of awkward. Most of the time, I just wonder what they're thinking. Do they remember? Do they feel any different?

Am I the only one?

I guess I've been thinking about that a lot, lately. Julie was gone when I got up this morning. I just kind of started walking, wound up out here in the dead zone.

I'm not really sure how long I've been wandering around, but now I realize that I'm in the neighborhood where Julie and I stayed, before. I shuffle up to the house, stand for a while on the lawn. Don't really know why I'm here. It's raining pretty hard. I forgot to grab a jacket and my clothes are kinda soaked. Apparently, I'm not really that great at paying attention to the weather. It's definitely cold—I can even see my breath. I'm freezing. Score one for functional nerve endings, I guess, and having an actual body temperature.

I should probably try to dry off, get warm. Julie worries that I won't remember stuff like that—that I'll let myself get too cold or I'll go too long without sleeping or I'll forget that I'm perfectly capable of bleeding to death, given the opportunity.

Alright, so I guess I haven't exactly given her no cause for concern, there.

She also wants me to carry a gun, but I don't. For one thing, my coordination's really not that great. By "not that great", I mean the seven year old kid next door is probably a better shot than me. But mostly it just feels kind of… wrong. I think most of the boneys have been cleared out, anyway. So I just try to be careful.

I stumble up the stairs into the house. Doesn't look like anyone has been here since we were. Not that much of a surprise, I guess. Nobody sane comes out here, if they can help it. It's probably just me and whatever boneys are left. Boneys'll eat anything with a heartbeat, and if it doesn't have a heartbeat, well, they're not really that interested.

It's not the first time I've been outside the wall. I like to look for stuff, bring back things that are useful. M comes along every once in a while, but he doesn't really have the patience to really dig through stuff. Says it's halfway between grave robbing and dumpster diving. I guess I like to think about the people who lived here, what their lives were like. Feels like maybe we should try to remember something, at least, before everything's just… gone. Maybe it'll help us learn to live, again.

Maybe I don't really know what I'm looking for.

I find a towel in the bathroom, try to dry off. I can hardly keep my teeth from chattering. My reflection looks paler than usual. By paler than usual, I mean, paler that I usually am, you know, not counting the past eight years. Mrs. Hackett would tell me I look like death warmed over.

Guess she wouldn't be that far off.

When I'm as dry as I'm going to get, I pull a blanket out of the hall closet and wrap it around myself. There's a flashlight and a backpack in there, too, so I grab them both, shuffle back out into the kitchen. The rest of the poloroids and the camera are still on the kitchen table. I flip through them, stop to look at a picture of myself. I hold the camera up and take another, put them side-by-side. Cold as I am, the second is clearly a picture of someone much closer to life. Hard to believe it's only been two months.

Sometimes I don't feel like I've changed all that much.

It's weird to be here without Julie. Feels kind of empty. Too much like the morning when I woke up and she was gone. When the rain slows down, and I'm a little warmer, I stuff the camera and the pictures into the backpack, head back outside. Takes me a minute, but I remember there's a 7/11 on the next block that I haven't been into. Seems like a good place to go look.

The glass door is broken. So are most of the big windows in the front. I step through, careful, try to avoid the shards in the doorframe (I still have stitches in the back of my hand from the can opener incident). But I lurch to one side, catch my pant leg, get a long scratch below the knee. I pull my leg free, stumble forward a few steps, straighten up. Close enough. With the clouds outside, the inside of the store is pretty dark. The floor and the counter are covered in leaves, dirt, dark stains. I swipe a few lighters off the end of the counter.

The guy behind the counter is still there. Oh man, that is some serious overtime. I lean over to get a better look, sort of wish I hadn't. Well… mostly still there. Kind of. I wonder what killed him. I mean, given the number of parts this guy is missing, I guess there's really only one possibility.

Also, it's really not that far from the airport. Half a day's walk, maybe.

That's kind of a bummer.

I dig the flashlight out of my pack, peer into the back of the store. The casing hangs off of one bank of lights at an odd angle. Almost all of the shelves are knocked over. Looks like the roof leaks. Doesn't seem like there's a lot left in here worth taking, though I do find a few boxes of Junior Mints that seem kind of dry. I've never had them but Julie and Nora like them, I think. I don't come out here that often, but when I do I try to bring something back for everyone. Julie likes candy and paint and old records. Nora likes romance novels. Mrs. Hackett likes gin and fig newtons, in that order. M likes gum and, uh… magazines. Colonel Grigio doesn't really seem to like anything, aside from his guns.

He's got plenty of guns.

I tear the corner off a box of Junior Mints, shake a few into my palm (and a few onto the floor. Jesus, I am clumsy). They look okay. They smell okay. I mean, it's not like I know what they're actually supposed to smell like, but… I toss one back, chew it. Smile.

I love food. I can't help it.

I guess in some ways, things really haven't changed all that much.

I eat a few more, tuck the rest of the box into my pocket. The other two go into my pack. I poke around some more, find some Pringles, a few cans of tuna, batteries, stuff them all into my bag. I shuffle past the first set of shelves toward the refrigerated units. Several of the doors back here are smashed, too. Most of the contents are gone. But my flashlight glints off of what looks like an intact bottle. _Beer_. Fourteen cans and three bottles. Not bad. Nora's birthday is coming up and this is totally gonna make me the life of the party. Or something.

I set my haul on the floor with my bag, take some time to repack everything with the beer on the bottom. Could use some paper to cushion the bottles, though. I stand and stumble toward the back room. As I get closer, I hear something move.

Shit. I freeze.


	3. Chapter 3: Anything With a Heartbeat II

A/N: Alright, here it is. Sorry, again, about the cliffhanger-I just didn't have time to edit the second half yesterday, and I am too compulsive to post it without feeling totally happy with it. It actually takes a lot of drafts for me to feel like I've really gotten R's voice right. Hope you like it!

I am leaving on August 5th for a two-week graduate course in Europe, so please be patient. I will keep writing and get the next chapter posted when I can.

Disclaimer: I don't own Heinz or Kraft or anything. Please don't sue me. I'm a graduate student and I can barely afford to eat things that aren't ramen.

* * *

It's not like I'm into the idea, but there would be a certain amount of irony in me getting eaten by the last remaining boneys. I've taken out boneys before, but that was to protect Julie. Or in a big group with one of Colonel Grigio's units. I'm kinda on my own, here. I mean, nobody even knows I'm out here.

Probably should have thought about that.

I lift the flashlight, point it into the dark, look around for something I can use as a weapon. I consider various parts of the slurpee machine, a Hostess display, a jar of mayonnaise as big as my head (I mean, maybe I just don't get it, but who needs that much mayonnaise, anyway?).

I wind up with a broken mop.

Jesus. I guess I'm pretty new to this whole actually _surviving_ the apocalypse thing, but you'd think I could do better than a broken mop. This is just embarrassing. Julie was right. I should have brought a gun. At least, I should have left a note. What is wrong with me? _What_ am I doing?

I shine my flashlight over toward the noise. Nothing. I lurch forward, clutch the mop. Something catches my shoe and I trip, face-plant straight into the floor. The flashlight goes flying. I hear another burst of rustling as I scramble to my feet, ready to bash in boney skulls with the mop. Nothing. I stumble forward to pick up the flashlight, point it into the corner. An eye shines back at me for a second, disappears.

Not a boney. An animal. Something small. I shuffle forward, look into a few different boxes. 'HEINZ KETCHUP' and 'KRAFT MACARONI AND CHEESE' are empty. I lift my mop, poke the box that says 'HOTPOCKETS'. Lots of rustling. I lean over to look inside, and see… a cat. Or a kitten, I guess. Tiny, black fur puffed out, one eye stuck shut. It hisses when it sees me, arches its back.

That's about as far from a boney as you can get. Jesus. This is what I was worried about.

Actually, this is kind of weird. I mean, not a lot of animals make it outside the wall. Anything with a heartbeat, remember? I let go of the mop, sit down on the linoleum. The cat stares at me. I pull a can of tuna out of the bag, pop the top, slide it forward toward the box. Wait. It takes a while, but I'm pretty good at being still. The cat comes out a few steps, takes a lick, starts gulping down fish. Doesn't seem to mind the flashlight while it's eating. Guess it hasn't eaten in a while.

I watch it eat half the can, pick up my bag, stand up. The cat starts, jumps back as I move, hisses. It's clearly terrified, but it's not going down without a fight. Kind of reminds me of something. Or someone, maybe. After a moment, I turn to go, but I can't seem to take the next step.

The cat creeps forward to the tuna again. Even though this cat is pretty young, it seems to be alone. Wonder what happened to its family.

Anything with a heartbeat.

Shit.

I don't really know what I'm doing, though at this point, I guess, that's not much of a surprise. I just reach out, grab it by the scruff. It hisses, twists around, buries all of its claws into my arm.

Alright, maybe I could have thought this through a little more.

But I don't let go. I pull it toward my chest, carry it out of the store. After a while, it lets go of my arm and buries its claws into my chest, instead. It's raining harder, so I zip my jacket up over it to keep the rain off. The walk home takes longer than I thought it would—by the time I get back to the wall, it's dark. Guess I didn't realize how far out I'd come.

I wonder what they'll say when I turn up with a cat. Somehow, I don't really think 'I collect things' is gonna cut it.

Julie's sitting on the steps when I get back, hood up, hands stuffed into her coat pockets. She looks upset. When she sees me, she jumps up, runs over, puts a hand on my arm and grips my sleeve. "R! Jesus, R, it's getting so late—I couldn't find you, didn't know where you went. I'm so glad you're okay!" She seems very relieved. I watch her take in my soaking clothes, the scratches on my hand, the tear in my pant leg. "Jeez. What happened? You're all scratched up."

"Went… looking for stuff. Outside the wall." I follow her as she opens the door, pulls me inside.

"I thought maybe that's where you were. I wish you wouldn't go out there alone—it's dangerous!" I nod, look away. "Are you okay? Did you find what you were looking for?" I shrug.

"Never really know… what I'm looking for." I guess that's true about a lot of things. I unzip my jacket far enough for the kitten to poke its head out. It digs its claws in again, but doesn't hiss. Julie raises her eyebrows.

"Oh my god! You found a cat? Out there?" She leans in to get a better look. "That eye looks bad."

"Found it in… a 7/11. It was scared… all alone." Like that's an explanation. Why do I have to be so weird? "Guess I wanted to… keep it safe." I shrug, again. Julie stops, looks up at me for a moment, reaches down to take my free hand.

"Guess he's pretty lucky that you were there to look out for him." Somehow I don't think she's just talking about the cat. I duck my head a little, meet her gaze.

"Y-you think so?"

"Yeah. I do." She nods, frowns a little. "I've missed you. I'm sorry that I've been so busy lately. When you didn't come home, I thought—" She looks upset, again.

"I-I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. I know you've been feeling kind of out of place. I should've made more time to hang out with you." I shrug, look away for a second, meet her gaze.

"It's o-okay." I mean it. "M-missed you, too." Julie lets go of my hand to reach up and grab the collar of my jacket, pulls me down for a kiss. Her mouth is warm. She twists her fingers into my hair and I wrap my free arm around her waist, pull her closer. The cat stays tucked against my chest, doesn't move. After a while, Julie breaks away, stands with her hands on the base of my neck, looking at me.

It's times like these when I start to feel a little more human.

"I got someone to cover my shift on patrol. We've got the house to ourselves tonight." She grins up at me. I grin back, lean in for another, brief kiss. We stand there for a second with our foreheads touching. I think if someone ate _my_ brain, maybe these are the things they would see. Julie looks down at the cat.

"We should probably get him over to the vet first, though. That eye looks pretty messed up." I nod. She lets go, zips her coat, reaches for the door. "What are you gonna call him?" I think for a second. The kitten has finally withdrawn most of its claws, might even be asleep. It feels warm against my hand.

"I'm not quite sure… y-yet."

"That's okay." She takes my hand, opens the door. Outside, the rain has stopped. "You've got time to figure it out."


End file.
